Young Justice Sex!
by Venusian
Summary: A series of oneshots featuring the romance, seduction, and all around amorous antics of a bunch of beautiful teenagers. Beautifully romantic one chapter, completely perverse the next.
1. Chapter 1

He shaved in the shower, then soaked for twenty minutes in the oversized tub. Changed into a black pair of trousers, a fine cotton long-sleeved shirt of the same color, and a dark brown belt. His feet kept their combat boots. He thought about Artemis.

Before, he had made certain not to make assumptions as to what her nationality was, along with what she was hiding from. Yet he'd had a feeling, pending further investigation, that she was from an exotic background. Partly it was her appearance, her manner, the way she dressed. And Green Arrow's trust in her didn't seem poorly based.

He decided that he would have to test her.

He picked up his communicator, tucked it into his ear, and spoke, "Contact. Private channel. Artemis."

A mechanical voice responded, "_Acknowledged. Private channel available."_

"Activate communication."

There was a hiss of static, a single chirp of ring, and her voice was there in his head.

"_Red?"_

"You and I need to talk," he told her as a way of greeting. "Now."

"_Is this a mission thing?"_ she asked.

"No. This is a getting-to-know-you thing."

"_Thirty_ _minutes_," she said. And then she hung up before he could argue.

"Dammit," he muttered. "Contact. Redial."

When the chirp subsided and he knew that she was on the line, he didn't give her a chance to say anything. "You should probably stay on the line long enough to figure out where to meet me, don't you think?"

"_I already know where to meet you." _Her voice sounded certain."_The Saint Augustine, fifth floor, room five fourty-four."_

He said nothing.

"_Your communicator has GPS and uses a satellite, Red. I'll be there in thirty minutes. Now don't bother me."_

He gritted his teeth and clenched one fist, wishing that he had his bow in hand. Things always felt more controllable when he had a weapon. _She's probably trying to throw me off-balance, gain just a little leverage by forcing me to wait. Forcing me to deal with something I'm not expecting._ Two could play at that game.

There was a liquor store on the bottom of the hotel, and on impulse, he went inside. Something caught his eye: a bottle of thirty-year-old Laphroaig for three hundred U.S.

Expensive.

_But life is so short._

There were a small selection of CDs by the register, and he picked up a few. Eva Cassidy, _Live at Blues Alley._ Chris Botti, _When I fall in love. _Mark Douthit, _Groove_. All of them good, the next best thing to being there, and Roy was familiar with them all due to his love of music.

He took everything back to the room and took two crystal glasses and a bucket of ice from the minibar. Set them down on the coffee table with the Laphroaig, along with a bottle of mineral water. The CDs were inserted into the room's multidisk player, programmed for "Random and Repeat." A moment later, the music started filling the room. He paused, listening to Chris Botti doing "Time To Say Goodbye," the melody and melancholy notes seeming to clarify, and somehow frame, his feelings about Artemis: part pleasant anticipation at seeing her again, but mostly deadly concern at her possible role in the team. If she was an infiltrator, and if she turned out to be an enemy, perhaps even a member of the Shadows, he would have his hands full.

The League of Shadows was impressive, even to Roy. They very much like a Terrorist CIA. They dealt with the collection of intelligence, destabilization of governments, covert ops like paramilitary activities and assassinations, and so on. What made them uniquely special was that their main lifestyle for the past two thousand years has been destruction of one civilization after another. So their blades were always sharp. They trained their operatives very, very thoroughly, and as consequence they were the best at what they did.

There was a knock on the door that broke him away from his thoughts. He unlocked the door and Artemis slipped inside without a word. He had to keep himself from staring when he took in her details.

Artemis was not in uniform.

She was wearing a jade green dress, something fine, maybe raw silk. It was cut just above the knee, with three-quarter-length sleeves that hid her shoulders, and a deep V cut in the back. Her shoes were patent leather stilettos with open toes. There was a handbag to match the shoes, and a silver Omega watch encircling her left wrist. It was a man's watch, large and heavy, but somehow seemed to accentuate her femininity while showing masculine strength. Her hair was swept back and away from her face. Overall, she looked controlled and sleek, sophisticated and sexy.

None of it, especially the shoes, would be ideal for combat, escape, or evasion (if it came to that). He realized that she must have chosen it for some type of operational imperative.

"Why," he said first, "are you dressed like you're going to the prom?"

"The same reason why you're dressed like Edward Cullen." She held both arms out to the side, open and inviting. "I don't suppose you'd feel comfortable strip searching me for weapons? You know. Seeing as how I'm not trustworthy and all."

There are all sorts of weapons in the world, and Roy reminded himself that when this girl was dressed for work she was anything but unarmed.

"You women." He showed his back to her and walked into the room. "Always wanting to be felt up."

She lowered her arms back to her sides and looked at him. She smiled in that sly, arrogant way she had…a little bit teasing, but mostly amusement, and inviting for others to join in the joke.

"You trust me so much you're not going to search me?"

"Not necessary." Nor would it be wise. His heart had started to run at a slightly higher pace at just the prospect of getting both hands on her body. "We trust each other for now, right?"

"Riiiight," she agreed, letting the smile linger for a minute without looking away. "Can I take off my shoes, then?"

"Why?" he asked, thinking of that idiot shoe bomber who had tried to bring down that flight from Paris a few years back.

She shrugged. "They're not exactly comfort incarnate. And anyway, isn't it customary to have a guest make herself at home?"

Cute. A way for her to obtain more maneuverability in case of combat. "This isn't anyone's home," he said. "Either way is fine."

She bent forward, raised her right leg behind her, and reached around to a strap at the back of her ankle. Roy noted that she didn't need to touch the wall or otherwise support herself to perform this maneuver. Her balance was good. She repeated the maneuver with the other shoe. In the half-light where they stood by the door he caught a tantalizing glimpse of skin and curves as the front of her dress slipped momentarily away from her body. The view wasn't accidental, he knew, but it was undeniably a nice one.

He kept his own boots on, and lead her into the room. She glanced over at the coffee table. "Laphroaig?"

"Thirty years old," he said, nodding. "You know it?"

She nodded back. "One of my favorites. I like it even better than the forty. That sherry finish...just great."

_Not bad_, he thought. She was right. The thirty-year-old, finished in sherry casks, mingles ocean tang and sherry sweetness like no other whisky. It offers a smell and taste unparalleled even among Laphroaig's other outstanding bottles. Roy was experienced with whisky and other fine drinks due to a misappropriate amount of offhand education provided by Ollie, but that probably wasn't the same story for Artemis. He wondered what else she would know, and where she had learned it from. She was obviously adept when it came to combat, clothes, archery. And now whiskey. What else? Music? Wine? Cultures? Tantric sexual techniques?

He tried not to speculate too much on the last one.

They sat near the coffee table; Artemis took the couch with her back to the wall, while Roy took the stuffed chair near the couch.

"Would you like a glass?"

"I'd love one. Thanks."

He poured them each a healthy measure in the crystal tumblers. He handed her a glass, raised his own, and said, "_Can chen," _smiling with his eyes as he did so.

She paused, looking at him. "What?"

"It means, 'Cheers,' in Vietnamese."

For one second, he thought she looked angry, and then she smiled. _"Etuatuko," _she said, and they both smiled as they drank. Responding in Navajo was a good recover, he would grant her that, but that pause, and the momentary reaction that had followed it, was enough of a tell.

After a minute she asked, "How much do you know about me?"

"Not a lot. Mostly speculation. Probably the same amount you know about me."

"You think I'm Vietnamese?" She gestured to her smooth face, her white skin, her blonde hair. "Don't you think that's a little much?"

Roy shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. Beautiful young woman, Buddhist-levels of concentration, trained in combative arts probably from the day she turned seven? I don't know what I was thinking. Call me crazy."

"Is that really all you're going on?" One hand was slightly raised, palm upturned, as if making the sign for a question mark.

"What else would there be?" He took another sip of the whisky, and cut to the chase. "Artemis, I need to know what you're hiding from my friends."

She stayed silent for a second, considering. "You're being hasty. That's not like you, seeing as how you're more of a cautious type. If I tell you everything about me, you'll either assume that I'm lying, or probably find some way to make the others not trust me."

"I already don't trust you," he said. "And the others probably already know. Megan may be respectful of privacy and pure of heart, but even she can read your mind without you knowing it, especially if she has an ounce of protective instinct for the rest of the team."

"I know that." She sipped from her tumbler, sighed as the warmth flooded through her, closed her eyes, and continued. "Let's not forget Robin, too. Trained under the world's greatest detective and all that." She looked at him squarely, displaying some of her old aggression. "We understand each other. We understand the situation we're both in. The more you push me, the more you compromise my ability to be one hundred percent out in the field with the others."

He put down his glass and stood up.

"Artemis," he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave the way it always did when he felt seconds away from having to take decisive action, "we're here to find a way to coexist peacefully. You constantly parading the fact that my friends trust and rely on you doesn't help either of us. Don't make me decide that you're a threat to them."

"Or what?" she said, looking up at him.

Roy didn't answer.

She put her glass down, then stood and faced him. "Are you going to break my neck? Most men couldn't. I'm not a flower, you know. But I know you could. You're cold, Red. You do what you want, and you don't care how it will affect others."

She took a step closer to him. He felt an adrenaline surge...but he couldn't identify the reason behind it. A second ago he had reacted to her the way he reflexively did when something revealed itself to be dangerous, but now...Roy wasn't sure. It was hard to put it in the right context. His increased heart rate forced my lungs to breathe faster, but he controlled it, not wanting her to see.

"Maybe I _am_ a threat to them," she said, her voice even. "Not because I want to be, but because of the situation. I have secrets, and my team relies on me to have their backs. It doesn't matter my intentions, does it? A liabilty is a threat. So? You're a man, right? Do what you have to do. Eliminate the threat." She took a step closer, close enough for him to smell her, to feel something coming off of her body, heat or some electrical thing. He felt more adrenaline push its way through his chest and gut.

"No?" she asked, drilling into his eyes with her own. "Why not? You know how it's done. Here." She reached down for his hands and brought them up to her neck. Her skin was warm and very smooth. He could feel her pulse against his fingers. It was beating surprisingly hard, as fast as his own. He could feel her breath against his arms, hear it moving in and out through her nose.

Roy hadn't meant to try and bluff her, but somehow he had. And now she was calling him on it. _Fuck._

She lowered her arms to her sides and tilted her chin slightly upward, the posture maximally submissive, and yet at the same time it was mocking and insolent. He looked down at the shadowed hollows of her throat and was almost defeated by the thought of how easy it would be to sweep his hands down over her shoulders, catching the material of her dress along the way, bringing the garment down to her waist and belly in one smooth motion, exposing her breasts, her skin, her sex.

It was there if he wanted it. Right there, ready for the taking, only two slight hand movements away. Roy knew that, and he knew this was by design, their moves to be choreographed on her terms, where she offered what he wanted like a kind pet owner offering milk to a kitten, maybe petting its head while it greedily lapped at the leavings.

Roy was suddenly angry. The feline imagery helped. He removed both hands from her neck and took a careful step away from her. His mouth had gone dry. He picked up the glass and took a long, slow swallow. And another. Sat back down, as calmly as he could.

"I was right about you," he said, leaving her standing. "You really can't help yourself."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, and Roy knew he was right. He'd fought against men like her in fights around the world. They had their money move, one technique that always worked for them, but if he could get past that one move, if he could survive it and keep fighting, they were off their game and couldn't recover.

"What's it like, having that power?" he went on. "It must be difficult, talking to a guy without trying to give him a hard on. What are you going to do in a few years from now, after your pheromones have all dried up? I don't see much else to you. Maybe there was, once. A long time ago. But there's not much left now, is there?"

Her eyes narrowed more and her ears seemed to flatten against her skull in an almost feral anger response. _It's about fucking time I got the upper hand on her._

"Are you going to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the couch. "Like I told you before, I'm not going to strip search you. And I'm not here to kill you."

She grimaced in the way that made him wonder if she had just imagined herself beheading him with a rusty spoon, and dipped her head forward as if to say, _All right. Message received._

She moved back to the couch and finished what was in her glass. Roy picked up the bottle to pour her another. She raised the glass as he did so and they noticed, simultaneously, that both of their hands were shaking.

"Why don't we call that a tie," he offered. A peace offering.

She smiled and took a sip of what he'd poured. "You're good, you know. Exceptional."

"Yeah, so are you. GA wouldn't have taken you on if you weren't."

She shrugged. When she spoke, she used her hands again. "I had previous training before him. He's teaching me how to use the only weapon I ever really liked."

"You don't like using weapons?"

"Only the bow." She made a fist with one hand. "I prefer to fight up close. The bow…it lets me be just as effective from a long way off."

"I'd like to spar you sometime. What technique do you like best?"

She looked at him for another long moment, studying him, weighing the pros and cons, before finally exhaling and relaxing. "Krav Maga."

Roy's eyes narrowed. Krav Maga-loosely translated as Contact Combat-was the self-defense system developed by the Israeli Defense Forces. It dealt with very fast, very brutal attacks that were delivered with the intention of maximum damage to the receiver. There were plenty of clips of it on Youtube. In this modern day and age it's taught all over the world, so experience with using the system certainly didn't mean the practitioner was Israeli. But the League of Shadows had a series of training grounds in the nation of Israel, and Artemis already knew Roy suspected where she'd originally come from. In this context, her acknowledgement served also as a tacit admission.

"I like Krav Maga. From what I know about it, it's very practical."

"It's all in how it's taught," she said, nodding. "And how you train. Most martial arts are taught as religions, teaching things that are based on faith instead of fact, even if they're not sure it's a solid faith. But I don't want that luxury. I need to use something that I _know_ works." She took another sip, recalling memories. "They took it a step further for me than for most, because my missions are special. I'm alone in the field for a long time, usually without access to any weapon. Or at least, a usual weapon."

"How'd they train you?"

She looked straight at him again. "You know how. A lot of scenario-based conditioning. A lot of contact. My nose was broken during training, can you see it? I had it fixed, but you can still see the scars if you look closely." She tilted her head, allowing him a closer view. Roy looked, and saw a hairline mark at the bridge of her nose, the remnants of a bad break made good by a skilled plastic surgeon. It would be invisible if he didn't know to look for it.

He was very aware that their faces were closer than usual.

"And you?"

"Mostly MMA. Boxing, wrestling some judo thrown in," he said. Not leaning back. "But I prefer to shoot."

"What else?" she asked, gesturing to his legs and torso. "The way I see you move, the way you carry yourself, the way you watch me, and from what I can tell about you right now, you don't behave this way from doing archery as a hobby."

"I learned the basics of aim just because it _was_ a hobby. Green Arrow took me on as his partner, and when that happened he taught me the special stuff. But it helps to have spent some time in the feild, a few years or so. That's when you start to develop a certain attitude towards learning what you can, wherever you are."

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Then she asked, "What are you thinking?"

He waited a second, then said, "I like how you use your hands when you talk."

She glanced down at her hands for a second, as though checking to see whether they were doing something right then, and laughed quietly. "I don't usually do that. You pissed me off." She looked away from him, probably mentally scolding herself.

"You weren't only doing it when you were pissed."

"Oh. Well, I do it when I forget myself."

"How often does that happen?"

"Rarely."

"You should do it more often."

"It's dangerous."

"Why?"

She looked back at him. He didn't look away. The look was noticeably long, definitely frank. Possibly inviting. "Tell me why you really wanted me to come here tonight."

Roy got up and sat next to her on the couch. One of her eyebrows rose a notch and she said, "This is unexpected." But she was smiling a little, those warm notes of irony and humor in her eyes. "Some people might call what you're doing 'mixed signals,'" she said.

He looked at her for another moment, then leaned slowly forward. She watched him, her eyes focusing on his, then dropping momentarily to his lips, moving back to his eyes again. Roy paused. Their faces were a few centimeters apart. He could smell her perfume, something he had never smelled before. She smelled nice.

Roy leaned his head forward and kissed her.

She accepted the kiss but didn't exactly embrace it, and after a moment he drew back slightly and looked at her.

"I thought you said you weren't going to do this."

"I'm not."

"You just kissed me."

"I have a problem with following rules. Even the ones I make up."

"A few minutes ago you were shooting me down, remember?"

He shook his head. "That wasn't you. That was your character. I'm not interested in her."

"How do you know you'll be interested in what's behind her?"

"I like what I've seen so far."

"Maybe you were right. Maybe I'm not supposed to be here."

"That would be very sad if it were true."

"You're the one who said it."

"I was trying to get under your skin."

"It worked."

"Show me I was wrong, then."

She fell silent, and looked at him again. Another long time. She leaned forward and they kissed again.

The kiss was better this time. There was an uncertainty about it, the tentativeness of a cease-fire, the sense of something moving slowly but with a lot of momentum behind it. She opened her mouth wider and their tongues met. Again, the feeling was tentative: an exploration, not a hasty charge. A testing of the waters, not a heedless plunge. A minute passed, maybe two, and the kiss grew less cautious, more passionate. Less deliberating, more a thing unto itself. It ebbed and flowed as though it were in obedience to some kind of force that was taking both of their control and dissolving it. Roy took in all the different aspects of her mouth; her tongue; her lips; her teeth; her tongue again; the delicious feel of the whole, this new threshold to so much of whoever she was.

She took his lower lip between her teeth and her lips and held it there a moment, then released it and gradually eased away. They looked at each other.

She bit her bottom lip.

"Damn you..."

The tension between them built, stretching like a bowstring being pulled back until it was thin, taunt, ready to snap.

For a final moment, their eyes met.

It was enough.

Their eyes didn't just glance into each other—they _locked_ onto each other. Him seeking her surrender to what they were both feeling; her simply seeking a way out from making this mistake. She couldn't get attached with him like this, it was so dangerous for the both of them.

"Oh, dammit," she muttered weakly. "You bastard…"

Artemis had never been kissed so intimately before, though, and she was finding it _much_ more pleasing than any previous embrace. His body's essence, though, was something more. Something ancient and long forgotten, a strong scent that stirred Artemis in a feral manner that she'd never expected. And she kept on kissing him. He parted his lips with a growl of satisfaction, and speared his tongue deeply into her mouth. She met it with her own, and they locked in combat, eagerly. He tasted… _masculine_. Untamed. Like pure, raging testosterone shaped in human form. Their teeth met as the kiss intensified, biting, their lips pressing hard and tongues spearing in a duel.

Her dress had a mind of its own; without any conscious effort on her part, the damn thing naturally slid the thin straps over her shoulders and fell, collecting into a silk ripple into the floor.

He found a nipple and squeezed, lightly at first, then harder. Artemis moaned and bowed her back, thrusting her breast more firmly into his hand. It was positively _burning_. He plucked and teased her, like it was the string on a guitar. She felt it plump and harden, so tight she thought it would burst. A wicked thrill ran through her as he suckled her bottom lip as if it were a ripe fruit, lightly bringing his sharp teeth down on her sensitive skin.

Quick as a cat, her legs leaped up and wrapped around his waist tightly, hot against his hardness. It was all she could do not to rub against him until she came.

Her arms came around his shoulders, and she almost moaned to find how muscular and strong his back felt beneath her hands. Her hips moved and ground into his pelvic area, and she could feel his hard cock straining to burst through the fabric of his pants. One of his hands speared itself into her hair, clutching at the base of her neck, while the other clasped tightly at her bottom.

His mouth moved from hers to trail a hot path downward, from her jaw, to her neck, down to the hollow at the base of her throat, where he suckled and laved. Artemis keened, a high, helpless sound of mindless nirvana. The sharp suction against her neck, coupled with her throbbing nipples and his clutched hand in her hair... it was all going to drive her insane. She'd had a lover before, but this? The mixture of pain and sex? This was practically combat!

Sharp teeth bit down on her neck, and she absolutely lost it. Her hands went to his strong back and she sank her nails into him like some sort of she-devil cat, clenching her legs tightly, humping him like a bitch in heat. Her tongue roved over his jaw, his ear, his neck.

Roy released her hair and placed his fingers between her legs. Her crotch was wet, completely soaked. He trailed the very tip of his fingernail between her skin, found the folds of her vagina, then parted them. Artemis closed her eyes and moaned, and when he slipped two fingers inside her, so tight and tiny, her whole body shook.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him look around wildly. To the left—a dresser. He shoved her over to it. There were valuables on top. He swept them to the floor. Artemis was suddenly bent over, her arm savagely twisted behind her back, him bearing down on her arm and pinning her there with his torso. She struggled, but Roy was too strong.

He quickly ripped his zipper open and undid his belt, his pants pooling around his ankles before being kicked to the side. She turned her head and saw his enormous erection, and wanted it, _immediately_. He stepped between her legs and spread her thighs wide open, ending with his hands and fingers tightly grasped onto the firm muscles in her legs and naked ass. Her breathing was more like labored gasping now, yet so, Roy realized, was his.

Still pressing down on her, he started strumming her clit. Oh fuck, why did he have to tease her like this, didn't he know what she was practically begging for? Maybe he just wanted to torture her a little more. Torture the both of them.

"Do it," Artemis gasped. "Do it now, or I'll kill you, I swear to God."

Her heart was pounding so hard she felt it thudding in her skull. Her fingers and toes were tingling, and she breathed raggedly when he kicked her feet even farther apart and pushed his two fingers back inside her.

"Stop playing!" she ordered. "Do it already!"

He pushed another finger in, pulled out, and slapped her ass hard enough to sting. She gasped, and felt _so_ incredibly turned on. There was wetness on one cheek, put there from his slap with three wet fingers, and she bit her lip sharply when he ran his tongue over it, cleaning her.

He wiped some of her wetness against the head of his cock, and slammed into her with one smooth, quick thrust. He screamed loudly, taking in such a long, ragged breath that Artemis felt the sound of it run into her. Like a feedback screech through a microphone. He started pounding into her, looking down at her. The side of her face was pressed into the smooth wood of the dresser's top, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and panting and making tiny noises, in pain or pleasure or both, neither could tell. Her cheek was red with flush. He kept going. She didn't know how to slow him down. She couldn't stop him.

An eternity went by. Then another. Artemis forgot who he was, forgot who she was, forgot why they were there. There was only the dark room, the heat, and a singular rhythm as old as the rocking sea.

Artemis heard a deep growl and realized that she was making it. She opened her eyes and looked at him, pleading. "Harder. Fuck me harder. Don't stop. Don't ever stop."

He let go of her wrist and took hold of her hips with both hands. She gripped the edges of the dresser and moved up onto her toes, raising her ass higher and pushing it into him. Her lips were moving quickly, soft enough that she couldn't even hear herself. Her legs were trembling. He felt her starting to contract against him, tightening, tightening like a vise.

Her lips were moving faster and faster, trying to speak words but getting nowhere. Her mind was done for, completely disoriented, and she was trying to say what she wanted but instead kept voicing it in her mind without any sound whatsoever.

_Please keep going, I need it, make me feel complete a little more before you pull out, it feels like I'm dying and living and dying and living, all at once, nobody ever did this to me, don't stop, don't stop, dear God don't stop, I can make you cum, I want to feel you cumming, I haven't felt your cum, I want to feel it, I don't care, just get it in me, keep pushing, keep stretching me, I'm going to burst, you're like a piston, oh GOD what are you doing, how can you do this, I've never felt this, this isn't normal, sweet God I need it, I want it, don't ever stop…_

Finally, Artemis felt his cock fill her completely, stretching her walls, the texture of its exquisite friction deep in her sheath. She felt full to bursting, and it was such a deliciously wicked pleasure to be filled in such a way.

The pounding in her head seemed to fuse together with everything else, her legs, her ass, her clit, her whole body, his body above and inside her.

Pounding.

Fire.

Release.

Everything. She finally realized that she was coming, and he was coming, and it was so wet and so good. She was burning up from the inside, her entire body and bones turning to liquid, her muscles clamping up and spasming, when would it end, it was too much, so torturous, she was coming, waves were shooting out of her, he was shooting into her, she was dying, oh, it _was so fucking good she never wanted it to end!_


	2. Chapter 2

**"The function of muscle is to pull and not to push, except in the case of the genitals and the tongue."**

**Leonardo DaVinci**

The shower in Superboy's quarters was a wonderful change from the fire hose they'd used on him in Cadmus. Not quite so cold. It was such a nice change, in fact, that he'd decided to take a hot one before he went to bed _and_ when he got up.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, another towel in hand, rubbing his hair.

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" he asked, walking over to the entranceway.

"Room inspection," a female voice said.

His mouth spread into a small grin. Black Canary's voice. He'd never heard about a room inspection being mandatory for the team, though.

He opened the door and stood slightly behind it, his left shoulder and head peering out. "Checking for drugs and Playboys?"

"Drugs wouldn't work on Kryptonian DNA," Canary said. "And I already know the Playboy stash is in Wally's room. 'Beneath The Folded Clothing In The Dresser' is a very old method…" She looked at him, and then moved her head inside to take a better view at the teenager wearing only a towel. "Not that you seem to have either clothes or dresser in here."

She strode in, not bothering to tell him to get dressed, walking into the neat room. "You keep this place pretty bare, Superboy. No posters, no desk. Glad to see you've at least got a bed." She sat down on it and stretched out.

"I'm adding a bookshelf later." He shut the door, then walked over to the bedside and leaned against the wall, arms folded. "I'm guessing this isn't really an inspection?"

She looked up at him slowly. Shook her head "no," once.

_Definitely off the record, then_, he thought.

She stood, eyes level with his, though only thanks to the additional three inches of height that he boots gave her. "It's a private assignment," she confided, softly. One finger was traced from his forearm, across the bicep, up to his left shoulder, and down onto his chest. "I can't do this with the people I work with, of course. And almost every guy outside of the League doesn't have what it takes to go head to head against me."

"That was training," he stated. His arms unfolded and hung loose at his sides.

"Consider this a lesson in Human Growth and Development, then."

She came up to him and pressed her breasts against his torso, then slid both arms around to his back. It wasn't but a few seconds until the towel fell to the floor, covering his ankles. The feel of her cool leather, tightly containing her hot skin, was intoxicating as she began to gyrate and slide against his body.

She rubbed her lips against his left ear, whispering, "Hold still."

He tried to move, tried to push off the wall with his hands to take her down onto the bed, but she pressed harder against him, pushing her own palms onto his wrists, pinning them in place.

"No," she whispered. "Teacher says _stay_."

Her left hand continued to stroke against his body, the forearm, nails dragging lightly against his bicep, then down his chest, and slowed as she reached the beginning of his waist. Then she reached down and took his cock tightly in her fist.

"That's quite a handful," she whispered, her tongue darting a few times onto his left earlobe.

"That's quite a grip." He felt warm. His breath was approaching a shudder. "But I'm not just gonna stand here and take it." He slid his and from under hers and grabbed her wrist, twisting his body. He planned to wrap both arms around her and throw her onto the bed.

But instead she snaked one leg in between his, manipulated his right elbow, and wound up throwing _him_ onto the mattress, flat on his back. His erection pointed straight up at the ceiling.

She laughed, and dropped down onto him, face level with his crotch, hand once again gripping his cock. "That feels good," she whispered. "Good and strong. Hard."

With no chance of getting vertical again, he pulled her closer into him and wrapped one fist tightly into her golden locks. "Kiss me."

"Haven't you heard?" she asked, lips rising in a smirk. "Teacher/student kissing is strictly forbidden." She released her grip on his cock and inched closer to his face. "They never said anything about sucking tongue, though."

As they pressed their mouths together and kissed, hungrily, she pressed her crotch against his erection. He slid back a bit further until his shoulders were against the wall and his head tilted forward. Canary reached both hands and slid them through his own hair, still pulling on his tongue between her lips.

Superboy's hands found a thin, tiny zipper at the front of her leotard, which he pulled down immediately. Almost without conscious thought, his hands moved between the fabric and her skin. Both nipples were erect, the hardened nubs easily identified as he massaged with his fingertips.

"Bad boy," she growled in his ears, grinding against his shaft.

"Clothes," he managed to gasp. "Take them off, or they're not gonna survive the next five seconds."

In half of that time, Black Canary managed to remove the leotard and leather jacket. She was a far cry from being naked—still wearing black fingerless cloves that went all the way past her elbow, fishnet stockings, calf-length boots, and her black choker—but it was this combination of clothing and nudity, with the added perfection of her physical form—chest heaving, head rolled to the side, eyes glossy, face flushed—that nearly drove Superboy over the edge.

He pressed his mouth against her left nipple and bit.

"_Yesss,"_ she hissed, nails digging into his back. _"Hurt your teacher…oh, YES!"_ Her right hand reached back to his cock and squeezed with all available strength, pumping up and down like a piston.

BEEEEEP

"_FUCK!"_

Superboy was nearly jarred out of his skin when her comlink chimed loudly. It beeped twice more—and not the normal communication chime. There was shit going down somewhere.

Canary reached over to the floor and dragged her jacket over to the bed, digging into a pocket and pulling out her comm.

"_Batman to the cave." _The familiar rasp of Robin's mentor flooded into the room. _"Robbery in progress. Officers down."_

Black Canary looked up at Superboy for a second, a pissed-off expression covering her face. She pulled on the black leotard and jacket from the floor, while Superboy shot into the closet and had pulled on jeans and T-shirt. She reached the door first and cracked one more smile at him, her hand on the knob.

"Talk about bad timing."

**A/N: Reviewers are like lovers. When they're good, they're very, VERY good. When they're bad...they're still better than nothing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Since I've been neglecting this collection for too long (and thanks to Cartoon Network FINALLY releasing new episodes of the show) I've decided to come back to this smut collection and type out this new chapter: Wally and Artemis. I like this pairing most of all, and I wish I could put a sex scene like this in my "Wally and the Three Kings" fic, but I'll settle for the lazy joys of just typing out a scene without too much needed background info.**

**Oh, and one last thing: thank you, all who reviewed. I put in extra effort on this one just for you.**

* * *

Artemis helped herself to a pair of drinking glasses, handed one to Wally, and placed hers under the ice dispenser of the oversized refrigerator. "Tell anyone about my stash, Wally, and you'll wake up in a pool of blood with a broadhead sticking out of your ass."

The corner of Wally's mouth rose, and his eyes gleamed. "Who told you I was into that?"

She said nothing, but felt her own smile tug at her lips. She opened the refrigerator and reached into the back, behind the bottles of water and various health snacks, hand clasping around a glass bottle hidden behind an egg carton. "Right where I left it."

She pulled out the bottle and raised in triumphantly, its crystal clear liquid shining from the kitchen lights. "Absolut," she said with pride.

Wally didn't look like he shared her pride. In fact, his face looked like a cross between fear and last-moments-of-life-panic.

"Why, _hello_, Red Tornado."

Artemis turned and saw the robot standing in the doorway. "Kid Flash. Artemis."

"Oh," Artemis croaked.

"May I ask what you are holding?"

"Uh…this?" she raised the bottle up, wondering if she was about to be kicked off the team. "This is…a bottle of purified water."

Red Tornado was silent.

"I was about to work out," she continued. "Gotta stay hydrated. Y'know?"

"I do."

One of the worst things about having a machine for a chaperone, she thought, was the unnerving way Red Tornado could make his every statement sound both honest and completely sarcastic.

"And you, Kid Flash?"

"_Moi_?" Wally placed a hand on his chest. "I'm just waiting to get a drink, myself."

"Indeed." Red Tornado nodded, and turned to leave, pausing to offer a final word over his shoulder. "Artemis, I highly doubt that you will need a glass in the training room. Your drink is already in its bottle. Please, conserve the water it would take to needlessly wash unnecessary dishes."

And he was gone.

Artemis looked at Wally and exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I feel like we just got caught by the principal."

Wally chuckled. "Come on."

They both filled their glasses with healthy measures of vodka, stashing the remains of the bottle deep inside the freezer, and Wally led them both to the training room. "Gotta keep up appearances," he said. "Just in case Tornado checks up on us."

"Shame," Artemis sighed. "I was looking forward to drinking this on the roof. More private."

But she soon found that the opportunity wasn't lost. As the duo made their way into the sparring room, they found that it was already occupied.

Black Canary and Megan stood in the center of the ring. Megan rained down blows like a summer storm, and Black Canary deflected them all like an umbrella. The instructor's style of fighting was simplicity itself, and even Artemis had to admire the woman's grace. Megan, however, was displaying a fresh layer of ferocity. It was the first time that anyone had actually seen her go to work against a single opponent with physical attacks.

"Ohmigod…" Wally murmered.

"I know…" Artemis nodded.

"I think I just got hard."

"I think you need to leave." She thought about punching his shoulder, but the thought of spilling any of the expensive drink kept her hand from forming into fist. "Come on."

"Just a minute…"

"Now."

"I wanna see the winner!"

"You are such a little boy, Wally."

The blow to his maturity seemed to snap him back to the girl he stood next to. "The rooftop?"

"The rooftop."

"Elevator. Now."

Inside the elevator, he surprised her by placing his glass on the floor, stepping close to her, placing both hands on her hips, and brushing his lips against her neck. It wasn't a kiss. Just a shadow's flirt of contact, a slight inhale of breath from the both of them, and then he pulled back, picking his drink up precisely in time with the opening of the elevator door.

Artemis knew what he was doing. She didn't say anything. But it was working on her, just the same.

The rooftop at the summit of Mount Justice had a lovely view of the night stars. Cloudless night, full moon, the soft sounds of the ocean… "This is perfect," she whispered.

Wally rubbed both hands together. "You're telling me!"

"For a conversation, I mean," she grinned. "Absolutely nothing else."

A moment of frustration crossed over Wally's face—she barely even caught it, but it was there—and then it was gone and Wally was grinning. "Of course not. That would be…unprofessional, for team mates."

"Right."

They sat close to the edge, their feet dangling over a fifty meter drop into the harbor. They gossiped between themselves while their glasses emptied slowly, making fun of Connor for being oblivious to all female attention, admiring Batman's coolness and Black Canary's style.

"You're obviously turned on by the bad boys," Wally said.

"Yeah, so? Are you a _bad boy_, Wally?"

"Dunno." He took another swig of his drink and grimaced. "No one's told me yet. Am I?"

God, she thought, at least he hadn't done anything juvenile, like saying _The baddest_, or something equally immature. Apparently vodka increased his maturity. Who would have guessed? "You have potential," she shrugged.

He leaned over and kissed her.

She let him. Surprisingly for both, she found herself returning it in force.

Eventually the kisses got heavier, and hotter, and their touches became less discreet. Wally pulled away for air. "You want to find a better place?" he asked. "We could head to my room."

That sounded like an excellent idea. Her own room was a mess. "Okay. Let's finish these and go."

She took a final draw from her glass, and was surprised to find that Wally had finished his long before. Even more aggravating, he didn't appear the slightest bit tipsy. "Fast metabolism," he explained. "You want me to carry you, mistress of the drunken stumble?"

"If you want to fuck like bunnies at all tonight, you'll let me walk myself, thank you very much."

Inside the elevator, he moved up close to her again. "How long has it been?" he whispered into her ear, sending shivers down her neck to her waist. "How long since you've felt this good?"

"Too long," she answered quickly, practically digging her nails into his back.

"How would you feel if I fucked you right in here, huh?"

She giggled. "You're such a perv, Wally."

He smiled back into her, his shining eyes gleaming with mischief and the promise of fun. "You have no idea."

"How much of a perv are you?"

"I'll just say one thing: you can't surprise me."

"Good. Because I think you can't surprise _me_." She was hot now. Her panties were starting to moisten. The vodka and endorphins were buzzing pleasantly in her blood, making her curious about her newly widened comfort zone. "Care to tell me some of the things you want to do?"

The elevator door opened. They were at the ground floor.

Robin was standing right in front of them.

"Oh." Wally, fully aware of the fact that he was practically grinding Artemis against the elevator cabin, backed away from her.

"Uhh…" She blinked, struggling to make herself look not nearly as tipsy as she felt.

Robin looked from one to the other, closed his eyes, facepalmed his forehead, and sighed. "I didn't see anything."

"Robin…"

"I. Didn't. See. Anything." He stepped into the elevator, pushing the older teens out into the hallway with his mere presence. Before the doors closed, Artemis could have sworn that she saw him wink at Wally. "'Bout time, though."

And then the doors were closed.

Before she could even think about it, she was on Wally, kissing him heavily. He pulled her close, she held onto his neck, his hardness pressing against her while she suckled his tongue. When they broke for air, she tried again. "Tell me what you wanna make me do. I want to know. Tell me something dangerous."

"I'll show you," he said, grabbing her hand. "Come on."

"No," she protested, but it was instinct, and she followed him. He lead her down hallways until they reached a bedroom door. Wally pulled a paperclip out of his pocket, bent it straight, and began picking the lock with a blurred-speed hand. "No, Wally, I'm serious. I'm not fucking in Red Tornado's bedroom."

"Red Tornado?" he laughed. "Robots don't sleep." He pulled the door open and grabbed her hand again. "This room belongs to Black Canary, and she's busy at the moment, isn't she?"

"She could be done any second, you idiot!"

"That's part of the excitement. Come on. A quickie, before we head to my room."

She realized that she both hated and wanted him at that moment. Fuck, she was horny. She followed him until he reached the closet door, opened it, and pushed them both in before closing it. In an instant he was tugging at her waist, unzipping designer jeans and slipping a thumb between elastic. "No, don't," she said again. "Keep them on, just pull the bottom to the side—"

But he tugged them all the way down, clear down past her knees.

Before she could protest, he pulled her close again, biting her bottom lip and digging fingers into the skin of her naked ass.

She moaned deliriously into his kisses, pushing her ass into his hands. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the closet, she realized that there were slats in the doors, allowing some air and light to trickle in. _We'd better be extra quiet_, she thought,_ in case anyone walks by the room._

"I can't believe we're doing this," she whispered.

His cock was out and she could feel it trying to find between her legs. "God, you're wet," he whispered back. "Someone's a little tramp."

She tried to angle herself in a way that allowed him better access. And she _was_ wet. Incredibly turned on. She turned around, forcing him to fuck her from behind while she leaned against the shut door of the closet—this position was definitely better. It felt incredible. She couldn't resist the urge to moan as Wally began to thrust faster and faster.

Until the bedroom light came on.

_No._

They were both instantly still, not making a sound. Someone walked into the bedroom. A familiar female voice said, "Get in here."

_Oh, shit._ Wally's cock was still nestled deep inside of her, his arms around her waist, holding her tight, but still they didn't move a muscle. "Black Canary," he barely mouthed into her ear, and she panicked when their sparring instructor came within view of the slats in the closet door.

If Red Tornado was the school principle, then Black Canary was the schoolteacher with a disciplinarian problem.

_We are in some serious trouble here._

Then another female came into view. It was definitely not a member of the Justice League.

_Oh, my God._

At the same moment, Wally whispered, "It's _Megan_."

"You had terrible form out there," Black Canary said to her. She sounded angry.

"I'm not that good at physical—"

"Quiet," she cut her off.

Artemis was startled by her abrupt tone. What did Black Canary care if Megan wasn't so great at hand to hand? It wasn't as if Miss Martian wasn't effective out in the field as a telepath.

Megan stood in front of the woman with her hands clasped behind her back and her head lowered. "I'm sorry, Miss Canary."

_Miss Canary? Nobody calls her that._

"I just can't help it if I—"

"You should have been practicing, young lady."

Black Canary was using an intimidating tone, and Artemis couldn't help but realize how much was wrong with this picture. Then suddenly Wally's hand dipped down silently between her legs. His fingers deftly felt between her slick lips, looking for her clit.

_I can't believe he's trying this now!_

But she was too nervous to pull away. That would make noise, and give them up. She was still impaled on his cock, for crying out loud!

In her ear, Wally said almost inaudibly, "She's going to fuck Megan."

Artemis was incredulous. "What?" she tried to say, stunned, but a lot more interested. She tried to get a better view through the door, definitely wanting to see.

Wally's cock was reviving inside of her, and his fingers zeroed in on her clit. She couldn't believe this was happening, but was unashamedly grateful that they had gone into this room first.

"I told you to train with Superboy and Aqualad on your hand to hand. I gave you specific instructions," Black Canary went on.

"I know, but they—"

"And I expect you to follow them."

"I _know._" Megan was practically crying.

"I'm too busy to be wasting my time with someone who doesn't take her training seriously."

"The reason I—"

"Save it, Megan. Save it for someone who has time to care about your excuses. Just be quiet, and come here."

Artemis was really on fire, overwhelmed by all the stimuli. She didn't want to get caught, not there; she wanted the show to continue. She wanted to keep watching. But Wally's slow, quiet thrusts and thrumming fingers were making it near impossible for her to keep silent.

"I said, get over here."

_She's good,_ Artemis thought. Very stern. _I'm actually a little worried for her…_

Black Canary sat down on the edge of her bed. Megan moved only slightly, and Canary patted her fishnet-stockinged thighs. "Right here. You can see where I'm pointing, can't you?"

"Yes, Miss Canary."

A smile. "And you're not having any trouble understanding me?"

"No, Miss Canary."

"Then do it."

"Dinah," she pleaded suddenly. "Don't make me do this. Someone's going to find out, and we'll get—"

"What did you call me?"

"I'm sorry—Miss Canary!"

It was then that a thunderbolt of truth struck Artemis, causing her eyes to grow wide and her breath to seize in her throat. _Megan can sense us. She knows that we're here!_

Wally was breathing heavily against the side of her neck, his cock working agonizingly slowly, methodically. He was soaking up every nuance of the scene in front of them, just like Artemis was, but Artemis knew that she was alone in understanding Megan's dilemma.

"Megan. I'm waiting. And the longer you stall, the worse it's going to be for you."

_Megan! _Artemis shouted in her mind. _Do what she says!_

The little martian girl stiffened, as if fighting internal fear, but Artemis was rewarded with a clear telepathic shout of _What?_ being returned. _I'm not about to let you and Wally see this!_

_Megan. Listen to me. We can all keep this a secret. But it CAN'T stay secret if Black Canary really thinks that something's wrong. If she gets wise to what's making you stop her fun, if Wally and I get caught, we ALL get caught, understand?_

Megan took a tentative step forward, a stall for time disguised as reluctant obedience. _I can't believe I'm actually doing this. In front of you two, nonetheless!_

_Get into it. _Artemis smirked, and tried to put a cocky tone to her thoughts. _You have NO IDEA how much this is turning us both on._

Megan went silent, severing their connection, and a quick breath of lust became stuck in Wally's throat: Megan's hands went up underneath her skirt. She was pulling her panties down. She was really doing it. And Atremis could see a tiny little spot of wetness on them as they fell to her ankles.

They could see everything as Megan lifted her skirt high and laid herself across Black Canary's lap.

_That's some ass she's got there,_ she thought. Soft and perfectly round. Artemis had never once dreamed she'd see Megan's naked tush for any reason at all, least of all this.

At first, Black Canary contented herself with softly trailing her fingernails over the smooth skin of Megan's bottom. Wally's cock began swelling up inside her cunt. He started giving it to her faster, and very hard, forcing her to clutch at his arms, needing to hang onto something. The lust was galloping through her now, burning like a solar flare. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

The spanking commenced, was swift, and sounded delightful. Megan tried hard not to emit even the tiniest peep, and Artemis knew that was because she was already ashamed enough—but that didn't stop the martian girl from raising her ass higher, meeting the sharp smacks with anticipation. _Maybe the shame does something for her,_ she thought. But how she managed to endure Canary's well-aimed, decisive smacks on her bare ass without once giving a cry was beyond anyone. Black Canary wasn't playing around: her strokes were severe. Megan's ass was going to be sore.

Artemis was too enchanted to think. Wally's steady thrusts and rubbing against her clit began the tremors of orgasm in her, and she had to share Megan's torment: enduring the onslaught of pleasure without so much as making a move, a sound, a gasp. Wally had to know she was cumming. He held her tight and pushed in as far as he could go.

The spanking was over before Artemis finished her orgasm. Megan was off Black Canary's lap, smoothing her skirt back in place, reaching for her panties on the floor.

"Leave them," Black Canary says. "Right where they are."

"But I…I'm wet."

"I want to borrow them for a while," Canary says, smiling, and there isn't a hint of malice in it. Just pure honesty. "A one-night souvenir."

"Okay." _Tell anyone about this, Artemis, and—_

_Oh, trust me, girl, _she thought lazily. _This is definitely our little secret._

Canary leaned over to Megan and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Okay, kiddo," she said, giving the girl one last playful swat on the behind. "Let's get you off to bed."

They left. Suddenly, the room was black and silent again.

"My God." Artemis shuddered the final tremors of her orgasm, and slumped against the closet doors. "That was…amazing."

Wally repositioned himself to fuck her like crazy. He unleashed his speed, and though it felt ten thousand times better than the silent, cautious pace he'd been using, it still didn't take long for him to pull out and shoot his cum all over her ass, trailing it down her thighs. Artemis wished silently that he'd spank her, but that would be so much better for later.

"Come on," he said, zipping up and kissing her. "Let's get out of here. My room. I'll carry you."

"I can keep up—"

"You know you love it." He didn't waste any time in rearranging her clothes before picking her up in both arms and shooting out into the main hall of Mount Justice.

As they passed by the elevators, the door opened up, and again they passed Robin. Artemis could only catch a glimpse of him grinning and shaking his head.


End file.
